The Shirt
by JaimeGirl84
Summary: One-shot H/L  Regarding a certain item of clothing...


The usual disclaimers apply...the characters belong to Mr Lucas, I just like to play with them!

A/N: This is my first Star Wars fanfic EVER, I've been so inspired by all the fantastic stories on here I wanted to join in the fun! Reviews and critiques are welcome, but if it sucks then please be gentle with me! :)

THE SHIRT

He recognised the shirt. Oh yes, he knew it well.

It had somehow come into his possession without him noticing, simply appearing in his meagre wardrobe one day, like most of his clothes seemed to back then, and it had fit well and was comfortable enough, so he'd begun wearing it. Without realising it, he'd even come to like it - the fabric was soft, and clung in all the right places. The open neck had once buttoned all the way up to his throat, but all the fasteners had been lost leaving it pleasantly gaping, showing just enough muscle and chest hair to make most women turn their heads.

It was the shirt he'd been wearing when he'd met a dumb kid named Luke Skywalker and rescued a bossy Princess from the Death Star. In his own cynical way, he considered it lucky.

The years passed, and both he and the shirt gained more mileage. The fabric became worn, almost to the point of being transparent, and a few small holes appeared. He'd spent six months imprisoned in carbonite, and on the third day since his release from it he'd been digging through his closet when he came across the shirt again...and found the holes had been repaired. Though he knew exactly who had been responsible for it, he made no accusations, and asked no questions.

Another year passed, another Death Star was destroyed, and still the shirt remained. Every tear it received was always patched up again before he wore it next; if he tossed it carelessly aside he always found it again, freshly laundered and folded, back in his closet. He began to suspect that he wasn't the only person around who liked this particular shirt, but again, he refused to comment on it.

The Empire had fallen, and he'd been relocated to Coruscant, along with a certain bossy Princess, and it had seemed natural to share an apartment the way they'd been living together on the Falcon since Endor. He'd become a General, and his wardrobe had been remodeled accordingly, and he suddenly had credits available to him, and shops to spend them in open to him, and a Princess who liked to buy him clothes that he would only admit to liking under extreme duress, and he'd decided it was high-time to give up the shirt. So he threw it away, giving it one last, regretful smile as he placed it in the trash chute.

The next day, it was back in his closet. Still, he didn't say anything.

Leia had developed a habit of changing into his clothes when she returned home from her office each night, a habit that he was not planning to talk her out of anytime soon. If they didn't have anywhere to be, a dinner or a reception or a ball, she would remove her elaborate dress or gown and replace it with whichever shirt he had last thrown into the hamper to be washed, provided of course it wasn't covered in engine grease from the Falcon. Then she would curl up on the couch beside him and they would eat a relaxed dinner, and she was never more beautiful than in those moments.

Except for maybe now, because she was wearing The Shirt.

She'd commed him earlier, to tell him that her meeting was cancelled and she had the afternoon off, she was on her way back to their apartment. He'd been finishing up installing new core reactors in the Falcon with Chewie, assured her that he wouldn't be long, and would meet her there. An hour later he'd come home to find the apartment dark and quiet, and Leia asleep on top of the covers of their bed, clad only in her panties and The Shirt.

Han stood in the doorway to their bedroom for a long moment, drinking her in. On him, the open neck cut down to the middle of his chest - on her it cut right right down to her navel, and she lay on her side, her arms curled up to her chest, her hair in one long braid down her back. He moved in slowly, silently, and the movement of him kneeling on the end of the bed was enough to cause her to move, shifting onto her back. A grin spread across his face as he moved in closer, parting her knees gently and kneeling between her legs, and she sighed, but didn't wake fully.

The fabric of The Shirt had become so thin he could see her nipples clearly outlined beneath it, and he shifted over her, taking all of his weight onto his hands, so he could lean down and take one of them into his mouth, sucking gently and never taking his eyes from her face, wanting to see her expression when she finally did wake. He felt the tension change in her body and her hand was in his hair before her eyes opened, blinking away sleep before she glanced down to meet his gaze.

Leia smiled, caressed his cheek as he continued his ministrations. "Hi."

"Hi," he murmured in response, his voice muffled. "Nice shirt." He ran one hand beneath the hem now, over her stomach to that he could see his fingers through the neckline, and moved his mouth to the exposed skin between her breasts. She gave a contented sigh and moved her legs, rubbing them against his thighs, encouraging him.

"It's my favourite," she replied, and gave a gentle pull on his chin. "Come up here and kiss me."

He would comply eventually, they both knew that he would, but he wasn't quite ready to give in yet. "Your favourite," he repeated between kisses to her sternum that began to move slowly upward toward her neck. "Is that why you keep saving it from the trash?"

"Of course." She was watching him, stroking his hair and his cheeks, his forehead. She gave a small gasp as his hand moved between her legs, gently pressing on her center.

"Why do you like it so much?" One finger slipped inside the lace of her underwear, moving deftly through folds of warm skin, and he looked up at her, shifting himself up so that they were face to face. The question caught her off-guard, and she tried to deflect it by leaning up to press her mouth to his chin.

"I don't know."

Han increased the pressure with his fingers, and watched as her hips began to move against him. "Well there must be a reason, Princess." Again he was moving, sitting back quickly to pull the panties from her body and fling them aside, and then she was sitting up too, reaching to open his belt buckle and the fasteners of his pants with practiced ease. Her hands were all over him, beneath his shirt to drag her nails across his stomach, then reaching into his undershorts to free him so that he stood at attention before her. He tugged his shirt - just a boring blue one - over his own head, closing his eyes as her mouth descended on his stomach, just below his navel, her tongue tracing small circles on his skin.

"I guess," Leia said, in between moist kisses pressed to his skin, gradually moving lower. "I like it because you like it." Nimble fingers stroked the underside of him with feather-light caresses, and his hand fisted in her hair. "You were wearing it the day we met, remember..."

"I remember, sweetheart." Of its own accord, his head fell back, and then he felt her lips following the trail her hand had just explored. She took him carefully into her mouth, just the very head at first, moving him slowly between her pursed lips, then he groaned her name as she took him in deeper. One hand remained around him, pulling gently, and the other hand gripped his backside, and he fisted one hand into her dark braid as he watched her head move. He was building, and she knew it, and didn't continue too far before releasing him, pressing two more wet kisses to his stomach. She reached for the hem of The Shirt and made as if to remove it, but he stopped her quickly.

"No. Leave it on."

The smile Leia gave him was coy, and she nodded her assent, tipping her head back as his mouth finally came down on hers, open and waiting. Their tongues danced and he breathed her in, caressing her neck, stroking her throat with his thumbs, reveling in the sensation of not being able to be close enough to her. She was gripping him equally tight, her hands on his back now, pulling him to her so that their chests pressed tightly together. Slowly, he eased her backwards so she was lying before him again, not breaking their kiss until she raised her legs to wrap around his waist, letting him know she was ready.

"Tell me why else you like it," he rumbled against her mouth, placing himself at her entrance and entering her with one swift movement, forcing himself to keep still inside her until she'd answered.

She let out a low cry of pleasure. "Why else I like what?" She was trying to move her hips against him, but he increased the pressure of his and kept her still.

"The shirt. Tell me why you like the shirt."

Her gaze met his, and she knew at once that he would not be distracted this time. She smiled again, gently this time, and pressed the tiniest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. "Because it smells like you," she admitted in a whisper. "No matter how many times I wash it, it always smells like you."

The logical, reasonable part of Han's mind would openly admit to anyone who asked that Leia was indeed the love of his life, but knowing that as a fact and actually _feeling_ it were two completely different things. He was lost in the depths of her dark eyes, feeling his breath catch in his throat, wanting to kiss her but not wanting to look away. Leia, as always, read him better than he even knew himself, and ran her thumb across his cheek as she thrust upwards with her hips once again, knowing this time he would comply with her request.

He did, starting his strokes long and slow, gradually quickening the pace as her rhythm changed from keeping pace with him, to writhing. He let one hand explore her chest as he thrust, pushing The Shirt aside to expose one breast to him, massaging it as he kept his gaze locked on hers.

He recognised the signs of her coming close to climaxing, and whispered to her to keep looking at him. She nodded desperately, taking her bottom lip between her teeth as she grew ever closer. She gasped out loud, and threw her head back, arching her back off the bed. "Han...oh, Han..."

"Leia, look at me..." He was having trouble keeping his own eyes open, and when she managed to look back to him, the fire in those dark eyes was enough to drive him over the edge. Fortunately she was right with him, digging her nails into his back and crying out as she climaxed, her muscles convulsing around him as he emptied himself into her. She stroked his hair back from his forehead, whispering endearments against his skin, and he finally gave in and kissed her again, pressing her back into the soft pillows beneath her, touching every part of her skin available to him. "Leia, I love you..." he murmured into her mouth, and she clung to him as his fervor began to ebb.

"Han?" she asked, her voice low and seductive, the tone she used when she wanted something from him, and the tone he'd never been able to say no to. "Will you promise me something?"

"Anything...anything..."

"Will you promise me that you'll never try and throw this shirt out again?"

Her eyes were filled with glee, and he gave a short laugh of delight. "Are you kidding me? Princess, I swear on everything you have ever considered holy, that I will guard that shirt with my very life, for as long as you want to keep it."

She kissed him once more before he rolled to lie beside her, and she followed his move so she was facing him on her side. "Good," she said, resting her cheek on his chest. "You know, it really is a very nice shirt."

"Oh, I know," he replied, his arm around her and the pleasant heaviness of fatigue settling over his whole body. "It always was my favourite."


End file.
